


Old Soul Written New

by Inkfire



Category: Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Regeneration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 20:59:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkfire/pseuds/Inkfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows all there is to know about regeneration. Knowledge does not cover the reality of it. In which a new man is born for the first time, and within himself, struggles to find the Doctor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Soul Written New

**Author's Note:**

> My first Second Doctor fic, and my first regeneration fic as well, I believe. Short character study set at the very beginning of Power of the Daleks. For the record, that is all of Two I’ve seen thus far, so my characterization of him is really based on those first moments. Hopefully I’ve done him justice! Enjoy!

Reborn, he stumbles. 

There is a haze over his thoughts, keeping his head fogged at first. His hands are not his hands—a ring clattered to the floor, the Doctor’s. Once his, not anymore, he feels. There is no sense of ownership as he gazes at it; then again, there is very little left he can claim ownership on. Twin hearts hammer in his chest, the double pulse roaring, dizzying, in his temples; the frantic beat is a familiar one at least, but stronger somehow, the organs raw and new, maddened. His face has become another’s. Only his ship hums and vibrates around him in recognition— _welcome_.

An instinctive pull led him there, to safety—a haven to shelter the great alteration, his freefall into the unknown. He can recall the exhaustion, body heavy yet eerily light as it dwindled away, ready to fade or be consumed in a last blaze of energy. He felt alarm and adrenaline; he knew what was happening to him, of course, knew that death would grasp him like a new beginning of sorts, but could not quite wrap his impressive intellect around all of the implications. Surely that says enough about how very unsettling a change this is. The Doctor was—is—so very clever, after all. And so is he… oh yes, so is he. 

So many things to be found around here, objects he tosses left and right as soon as his hands grasp them, careless, pondering. He pauses in his reflections to play a few notes on a recorder, and chuckles. That right there, that light-hearted wonder—it’s new.

It’s his. 

The diary is not… and yet he remembers everything, with perfect clarity now. He remembers Barbara and Chatterton—no, Chesterton—stumbling into his ship; he remembers Susan, small and lost on the screen of his scanner as he offered her to have the life he could never have given her himself. Vicki, Steven, Katarina and her perfection, brave, strong Sara, and then Dodo—he can see them all in his mind’s eye. And then, Ben and Polly—frozen in the corner, just a minute ago, watching and whispering. Now, as he strides out, they will be following. Eventually.

For now, he focuses on the past, thumbing through pages feverishly. He can see it all, the way he lived it; he did, he did—but with old bones, and white hair, with tired hearts that had known too long a strain. Wearing thin, indeed. Plenty of time for a change, something a bit fresh. He is new now; he feels so entirely _different_ , but most of all he feels alive. A man nearly nameless, experiencing a sharp drive to reach and taste the whole world for himself. 

Blank pages.

All he has is knowledge. All he has is his mind, and the double pulse hammering against his ribs, anchoring him. Everything the Doctor knew, he knows.

He trusts his instincts, if not his identity.

He wanders about, watches, and draws conclusions.


End file.
